CHAPTER FIFTEEN (USE YOUR INSIDE VOICE...)
Jim Brass was not thinking clearly.
The man realized the fact but wasn't certain how to rectify the problem. He could not stop thinking about Haley Meadows. Had Duvalier been right in his assumption? Had Jim stayed with the woman, as his instincts had told him, would matters have turned out differently?
Jim sighed. How many times had he gone over that route in his head.? How many different scenarios had he imagined.
He had planned to get a few of the more pressing items cleared from his desk calendar, then return to the hotel to pick Haley up for a nice, leisurely brunch.
That would have been great. He had been looking forward to seeing her again.
Fate seemed to be kicking him in the teeth of late. Everyone he cared for had been taken from him in one damned way or another.
His daughter, Ellie..through mistakes they each had made along the way. Weena..well, that one was entirely on his head and now..maybe Haley as well.
He drove the company issued vehicle mechanically, winding the car slowly through the nearly deserted back streets of the industrial section of Vegas.
A few loading docks still had their areas lit, with one or two guys out for a smoke break but for the most part, the buildings were quiet and dark. Most employees and owners long since gone for the night. The majority of the businesses shut down.
His hands steered the wheel automatically, his eyes scanning the back alleys and side streets for something he could not define.
He would know it when he saw it.
The area was littered with billboards and trash receptacles, not much else. One building taking on the appearance of the next. This section of town having been constructed in the 'boom time' when Vegas had it's influx of people in the late seventies.
Jim Brass had been one of those hopefuls..transferring here after his divorce, looking for a new start, just like everyone else.
He was here now. Looking for something entirely different in nature.
Grissom had calculated a radius for a search parameter, taking the mileage from the rental car, computing an algorithm for the cops to narrow their activities.
A lot of man power had been used earlier to check out any possible leads but everyone had come up empty.
If the Feds had new information, they weren't sharing. Brass had no word from that 'source' since Duvalier's rather dramatic exit earlier in the day.
The man sipped his upteenth cup of coffee, trying to stay awake. He had not slept since that short few hours he had lain beside Haley Meadows.
He knew he looked like shit, desperately needed a shave, his facial hair coarse and dark on the best of days. He had not taken the time to go home and shower or change so his slacks were creased, his shirt..questionable at best.
The man didn't give a shit.
He had to find her. Something had to give soon or Brass knew he was going to lose it.
He couldn't do this again. Not right now. He had to find Haley and she had to be just fine.
He refused to think beyond that point. So..here he was. Having resorted to one of his time tested methods of investigation. Leg work and a hunch.
Jim asked himself. 'If I were this fucker, where would I be? Where could I go that the cops wouldn't think to look? Or if they did..they would only see what they expected to see.
Of course there was always the desert but Jim dismissed that hypothesis. These women were held for weeks. The body drops were clear across town, every last one. So, that told him that the act would not have been done anywhere near. This guy didn't think like that.
The place had to be out and away from people, so no busy bodies would ever interfere with what the creep had planned.
Grissom had done his job, but all these damned places looked alike. Storage buildings and factories closed down by the Recession..the one everyone said didn't exist.
Office complexes and warehouses filtered amid restaurants and strip malls.
Brass pulled to the side of the curb, a feeling of frustration and despair overtaking the man.
He put the car into park, his hands dropping from the wheel. He allowed the darkness to settle around him. The quiet filled the night. In the distance, he could see the lights of the freeway traffic. The world moved along as usual even at four in the morning.
Especially in Las Vegas. The town that never sleeps..or...was that New York?
His brain was fuzzy. He tried to focus his eyes. A Shell gas station's lights illuminated the street half a block away on the left. Across the intersection, an Arby's, closed down, sat dark and empty, it's parking lot deserted.
The gas station had one customer. A black man filling up with gas, an old late model Pacer, it's red finish, dusty and dented in a few spots.
A Pacer..Jim hadn't seen one in years. The night sky was dotted with cumulus clouds, the wind from the west. It was a little humid tonight. A storm must be brewing in the Pacific.
The mountains blocked a lot of the bad weather, of course.
A storm of sorts was brewing inside Jim Brass as well..and nothing was blocking the turbulent emotions he was experiencing.
He had been out here for over an hour now..and still...he had nothing.
The man raked his hands across his face, rubbing the exhaustion from his mind. He stretched this way and that, kinked his back and rotated his shoulders.
He got out of the car, needing a reprieve. Standing reminded him just how tired his body was, however, his leg muscles resisting the strain of his weight, aching around his knees and calves, from sitting so long.
He breathed in a long breath, closing his eyes to relish the sensation. He glanced down the long expanse of road in either direction, exhaling absently. Then the man did something he hadn't done in years. He sought the pack of cigarettes he kept in the console of the car, leaning in, rummaging through the sorted pens, pads and old Jefferson Airplane CDs, coming up with his Bic lighter and prize he needed.
He lit the Marlboro, drawing in a long taste..it burned his throat. He savored the moment.
Jim leaned back against the front fender, enjoying his weakness of character to the fullest.
No other traffic marred the scenery, comprised of tall palm trees, red and green blinking lights dotting each intersection and telephone poles that stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction.
He retraced the facts in his mind for the hundredth time. There was nothing registered in Vernon Gossemer's name in this sector. Nothing registered what-so-ever, except the one house and a berth in the 'Marina'. Gossemer kept a modest boat for weekends at Lake Mead, his wife had said. Not even the house on Paradise...
Brass jolted alert.
The house on Paradise Road. It was not registered to Gossemer. The owner was listed as...Addison McBain.
At the time, Brass had thought the fact a little amusing..and decidedly disturbing.
Two entities, Grissom had said. Two different people.
The search of the home on Paradise had netted nothing of interest. A safe, which held quite a bit of cash, some jewelry, that was still being appraised and a docket of papers.
One wooden box housed several unmarked keys. One was traced, never the less, to a safety deposit box in the Central Bank of Nevada. It yielded more cash and two deeds to estates outside the United States. One in Sussex, England and the other..Munich, Germany.
Jim took another drag off the cigarette, fumbling for his cell inside his inner jacket pocket. He had discarded the object hours ago, having thrown it over the back seat. He punched the numbers needed, waiting impatiently.
"Harligan..put Rivera on. I want to talk to someone with a measure of intelligence." He listened and almost smiled at the young man's come back. "My lack of breeding aside..put him on."
The older detective came on the line, a smile in his voice. "I didn't know that about your mom, Captain."
"Consider the source..hey.." He got to business. "Do something for me."
"You want I should push Major Tom out the window?"
"Nice thought, but no..we might need him for a coffee run later. Get on the computer and see what you can pull up listed under 'Addison McBain'. I'm looking for anything he might own in this sector."
"Hey, I didn't think of that." The request was relayed to his partner. "...We're checking, Captain."
Brass waited tensely, putting the cigarette to his lips unconsciously seeking comfort.
"Captain?" A concerned and scolding tone came through over the line. "Are you smoking again?"
"Fuck off, Harligan." He growled his annoyance. "Where's.."
"He didn't trust my abilities..he's searching now. Hang ten." Major Tom took no offense.
"The only thing we're showing.." The young man hated to report the findings. "Is the one house on Paradise Road. Sorry, Captain." He sounded sincere for once.
Brass was more than disappointed. He finished the smoke, crushing the butt beneath his shoe. "...Try...Josef Lundgren."
"Who the hell is that...?"
"Just do it, damn it!" Brass knew he sounded surly, beyond surly..but...fuck! He was about at his wit's end.
Another long moment passed. Brass could feel the nerves in the back of his neck tightening.
"...Well...I'll be freakin damned!" Came the shocked voice of Carlos Rivera. "We got a hit, Captain."
"Get the Black and Whites...give me the address!"